


Just On This Island

by RedParade



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe, American Sign Language, Deaf Character, Desert Island Fic, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Not Beta Read, Period Typical Attitudes, Poe adopted by the Solos, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Secrets, Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Time Period Depictions of the Deaf, not quite historically accurate, smuttier as it goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-23 13:26:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14333400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedParade/pseuds/RedParade
Summary: At nineteen, Rey Andor agrees to a marriage arranged by her uncle and guardian, Lord Kenobi.  Soon after the wedding, Rey must travel to her new home across the Pacific, accompanied by her husband's deaf cousin, Ben Solo.  After their ship is ravaged and the two are stranded on a deserted island, Rey and Ben must overcome language barriers, a lack of practical skills, secrets, and a burgeoning attraction in order to survive till help arrives.





	1. After the Wedding Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

Sydney, Australia 1903

 

* * *

 

She sat quietly on the window seat, back rigid against the nook, knees bent, eyes lost to the Pacific.

The steady pelt of rain was relaxing enough, though the rough, cushion-less bench kept her from drifting off.  Sleep rarely came easy--most nights she tossed in bed, eager to dream, desperate for rest. When she was younger, thoughts of her parents, long dead, plagued her mind, but the cause of her insomnia as a grown woman was more difficult to define.

She held her neck inclined as far as comfort would allow, not caring to see the ships rocking in the harbor or patrons stumbling home from a night of drunken revelry.

She wanted nothing but the sea. Dark, churning, fathomless.

 _Don’t be a fool. Just go back to bed._  

But she couldn’t.

Not when _he_ was in it.  

After having slept on her own for nearly twenty years, it seemed utterly ridiculous that a few words and a gold band meant she was now expected to share the most personal of spaces.

 _Of course that’s what it means, you idiot. What did you expect when you said yes in the first place?_ She glanced back at the figure in the bed.  Her bed. Well the hotel’s bed, but still. He had come to her room after seeing the last of the guests to their carriages, folding his waistcoat neatly on the walnut dressing table before turning off the lamp.

The creak of bed springs as he climbed atop her. The shock of hair curling between the opening of his union suit. Hands palming her breasts.

The unfamiliar soreness between her legs.

Poe Dameron. Her husband.  

_Just get back in bed._

She wouldn’t.  At least not yet _._  What if she woke him up and he wanted to...do that again?  No, she would wait until morning. 

The bed covers rustled as Poe shifted.  She held her breath, half expecting him to call out for her, but he didn't.

Rey rested her head against the window with a sigh, and though her chin trembled, the young woman refused to submit to her tears.  Maybe one day when the shock of what she had consented to had worn off and the complete and utter mess she had made of her life was no longer so obvious.  

Maybe.  

But until then, it was her burden to carry and she would not show an ounce of regret.

 

* * *

 

Rey Andor, the only niece of Lord Benjamin Kenobi, Earl of Devaron, was to sail with her uncle from London to Sydney under the guise of business, but before she had even stepped foot on the ship, it became apparent to the nineteen year old that her uncle had an ulterior motive.

“Twelve gowns,” Rey peered into one of the six large steamer trunks she was helping Rose to pack. “Why on earth would I need _twelve gowns_?” Her hand trailed the delicate blue silk of an evening dress situated near the top of the carefully folded heap.  

“Don’t touch that,” the young maid good-naturedly slapped Rey’s hand away. “Maybe your uncle wants you to...be prepared for every eventuality.” Rose pursed her lips, as though afraid to divulge more.

“Every eventuality?” Rey scoffed, turning from her maid. “Like what, an audience with His Majesty? Besides,” she continued, pulling down a worn leather satchel from a hook on the wall, tossing it onto the bed. “When Uncle asked me to accompany him, he told me we would be having a few informal teas with a business associate. I assumed my regular traveling clothes would suffice.” Rey advanced on Rose, who had began to determinedly refold a pair of peach-colored knickers. “Why do I need twelve gowns for passage when I'm to be fitted for a new wardrobe once we arrive?”

Rose stepped around her mistress, latching up the remaining trunks, eyes to the ground. “I think you should ask your uncle, my lady.”

“Rose,” Rey warned, wielding a playful smile.  “Don’t you ‘my lady’ me. You know something I don't. I can tell. You've been avoiding me all week and you can’t even look at me right now. What is it, then?”

Rose grabbed Rey’s hand and led her to the curtained window and away from the bedroom door. “I'll tell you Rey, but I wasn't supposed to say a word. Will you promise not to be upset that I kept this from you?”  Rey nodded conspiratorially. “Or tell your uncle you heard it from me?”

“Yes, yes, get on with it.”

The words came out in a rush. “While serving Sunday luncheon, I overheard Master Kenobi talking to his solicitor.  Your uncle is going introduce you to some rich American suitor on your trip. I didn’t catch his name, but he's in his thirties, and is the nephew of the Solos.  The ones with the sugarcane in Hawaii.”

Rey felt the muscles tighten in her face as her smile bled into a tight lipped look of disbelief. "I'm sorry--what?"

"Your uncle is to inform you today of his marriage proposal. The contracts just need to be signed. I was going to run and tell you straight away but Master Kenobi realized I was there and made me swear up and down not to tell you."

“Are you absolutely certain?”

Rose nodded solemnly, her cap coming loose from its pins. “He’s just arrived in town and has business in Sydney with your uncle.”

“I…” Rey trailed off, voice breaking, mouth dry.  Her eyes, usually warm and mischievous, were narrowed in something akin to betrayal.  “I'm going for a walk in the garden. I’ll return before dark.”

Without looking back she added, "Do not follow me."

 

* * *

Toeing the damp grass at the edge of the pond, Rey racked her brain for all the details she could remember about her uncle's dearest friends.  

Despite the intimacy of the connection, Rey had met with the Solos only a few times before, on their rare trips to London.  Together they would attend the theater and dinners; while her uncle and Mr. Solo discussed business and life on the island, Rey spent most of the time making small talk with Mrs. Solo, deflecting questions about balls (not that she was allowed to attend) and gentlemen (not that she was allowed to entertain).  Their last meeting had been nearly four years ago. 

The Solos lived in Hawaii and were in the sugarcane business.  Twice a year, on Christmas and on her birthday, Rey received an expensive gift and handwritten letter from the family, inquiring after health and happiness. They had a son, she knew that at least, as it was common knowledge the younger Solo was her uncle's namesake. Or was it two sons? Yes, two sons sounded right.  Or was it one son and a nephew? She wished she actually listened to her uncle's gossip rather than nodding politely and turning her thoughts elsewhere.

She did know that something was wrong with one of the Solo boys. He was something of an invalid and had been sent away to some sort of institution as a child.

But that was the extent of Rey's association with the family.  She had never accompanied her Uncle on his annual trips to the Hawaiian islands, or anywhere else for that matter. Her seclusion on the estate was the very reason Rey was so excited to travel to the new Commonwealth of Australia.  This would be her first real trip.  Her uncle promised her time to sight see with Rose and as much pocket money as she could carry. 

She was never allowed anywhere on her own.  She didn’t have any real friends, save for Rose (not that she would trade Rose for a million companions), and unlike the female relatives of other members of the peerage, Rey could neither host or attend formal events without her uncle at her side.  She had even begged her uncle last year for the chance to attend university to no avail.  If it was schooling she was after, he countered, a tutor would be sent for. 

Now here he was, planning her marriage without consulting her.  She was to have a suitor in his thirties. Rey had seen a few acquaintances marry men who were significantly older (and richer), but she was only nineteen.  What could she possibly have in common with such a man? What was her uncle thinking!

 

* * *

 

“I’m getting old Rey, nearly sixty.” Benjamin Kenobi held up a hand to preemptively silence the forthcoming argument from his niece. “Don’t give me that look.  I was already of age when your mother was born to my father and step-mother. As fond as I was of my little sister before her death, you are as dear to me as any child of my own could hope to be.”

Kenobi plucked the spectacles from his face to better survey the pretty woman who kneeled at his chairside. “It has been an honor and a pleasure to watch you grow into the woman you are today, Rey. You clever, stubborn girl. I wouldn't trade you for anything.”

“But as I said, dearest, I am getting old now and it is my wish to see you settled and happy with a family of your own should anything happen to me.”  

Rey considered her words a moment before replying.  “Uncle, you are the only family I could ever want. But there is no need for me to marry yet.  We’ve never discussed marriage.”

Kenobi chuckled. “That's true.  But have you thought perhaps I am eager for grandchildren running around my hearthstone? Hmmm?  I need someone to scold Rey, and you are far too big now.” He opened his mouth as if to say more, taking her hand instead.  

She had met with him at their usual dinner time, cheeks flushed from both the excursion of her walk and anger at her guardian's deception.

They ate, her uncle discussing the importance of his holdings in Australia (which had only recently been granted independence), but after, the elderly man led her to the cushioned ottoman situated beside his chair and delivered the news.  

“I would do anything to make you happy Uncle, you know that, but I’ve never met him.  Perhaps if you had told me earlier--”

“So you could come up with some half-cocked excuse to decline?  No, Rey, I approve of this match. I want you take it seriously. For me.”

“I'm only nineteen,” she plead, desperately.

“And your mother was only seventeen when I arranged her marriage to Andor.  It was my responsibility after the death of my father.”

She shook her head slowly, the tight coiffure of hair releasing tendrils at her temple.  Just like her mother before her, Rey would have no say in the rest of her life. Things were forever being chosen for and dictated to her. 

“Rey, I won’t force you into anything.” Kenobi continued,  “But...I do insist that you meet Mr. Dameron. Spend some time together with him on the ship. I’ve known his family my entire life.  I trust them. I need you to trust me.” Rey turned her face to the fire, hoping the heat would dry her tears before they fell.

“Why now, Uncle?  Why the rush, the secrecy?” her voice was little more than a whisper.

He ignored her query. “If it turns out you two do not get along, or there is some other unforeseen obstacle, I will drop the matter.  But Rey, for my sake, consider it.”

“I trust your judgment completely, Uncle.” That was a bit of a lie, but what else could she say? While she loved her uncle and did trust that he kept her best interests in mind, she knew that he wasn't being completely honest with her.  In fact, he almost never was.

After years of questioning his authority and decisions as an impulsive child, Rey had come to accept that it must be a part of his nature to never share his real motivations or intentions, and not wishing to displease him, kept her suspicions to herself.

But this.  She hadn’t had a come out, she hadn’t met any other men.  He wouldn’t..he couldn’t...and she began to tell him so, but before she could argue further, her uncle placed a soft, dry hand against her cheek.

“That’s my dearest.  Now, let’s pester cook about our desert.” The discussion was over and her fate had been decided.

As she assisted her beloved uncle from his seat, a wave of determined affection overtook her, and Rey vowed, that no matter how insufferable this Mr. Dameron was, she would not disappoint Benjamin Kenobi.  She wouldn’t argue with him. How could she? He had taken her in when she had nobody else.

Rey owed him this, at the very least.

 

* * *

 

She woke with a start, her husband’s firm grasp on her shoulder.  The sun was heavy in the sky and Poe was already shaved and dressed.  “Your breakfast is here. I’ll call Rose to help you dress.”

Still blinking the sleep from her eyes, Rey Dameron stretched before taking his proffered hand. Her body was sore from the awkward position she fell asleep in and embarrassment coursed through her as she realized the neck of her unbuttoned gown had slipped down her shoulder, revealing the curve of her breast. She pulled away from Poe and hastily righted her clothing.  

If Poe was annoyed he didn’t show it, in fact he gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead, his hand brushing her waist, before his retreat to the hotel's lounge.

“Come down when you’re finished.  I’d like to discuss some things with you before you leave.”

“Certainly.” _Certainly?_ _God, Rey can you sound anymore ridiculous?_  He nodded at Rose, who clomped in, laden with articles of silk and cambric.

The door shut with a sound _click_ of the latch, and before another moment passed, Rose had flung the expensive garments onto the bed and took a trembling Rey into her arms.  

“Was it that bad? Was he rough?”

 _Only Rose._  “No, it wasn’t that bad," she lied "And no, he wasn’t...rough.” She grabbed the hem of her nightdress and pulled it over her head until she stood naked, waiting for Rose to hand her the day’s undergarments.  

It was not uncommon for Rey to undress in front of Rose; after all, a part of Rose Tico’s duties was to dress her mistress, but rather than politely disregard Rey's nudity as was proper, today the maid was staring intently.

“What in the world are you looking at?” Rey demanded, fearful that she hadn’t completely cleaned the smear of blood that had stained her inner thighs the night before. The suite, if one could call it that, didn’t offer its own washroom and it was mortifying, after he had finished with her, to have to use the water basin and rag in front of him, his eyes trained on her hand as she cleaned herself as best she could while trying to keep her nightgown over her knees.  

If there was one thing she hadn’t expected on her wedding night, it was the mess her husband would leave behind.

“Well,” Rose knelt, holding open a pair of lacy bloomers for Rey to step into. “Paige said that after a man beds you, you’re ruined.” Rose looked the flushing girl up and down with interest. “You look the same to me.”

“Rose!” Rey pulled a soft camisole over her bare chest, waiting for her maid to bring round the corset. She ought to kick Rose out and finish dressing on her own. But she was curious. “What do you mean ruined?”

“Well, she told me that after a lady's first time with a man you're ruined and no other man will ever want you.  I think,” Rose screwed up her nose while lacing up the corset. “It has something to do with your bits. Maybe it ruins you...down there?” Rose offered helpfully, handing Rey a pair of grey silk stockings. “That way no one but your husband will want you.”

“My bits are--aren’t ruined!” Rey stuttered, horrified. Her lack of knowledge on the subject of sex had never been more evident.  

Her uncle had never come close to broaching the subject, and the only female she felt comfortable enough with was, apparently, just as ignorant as she. There were novels and romances of course, and gossip from the other servants, but nothing _specific._

Reaching for her petticoat, Rey tried to dismiss Rose’s ridiculous claims, but the thought continued to press at the back of her head.  

 _Am I ruined?_  Not that she planned on being with anyone else for the rest of her life, she was raised better than that, but the thought of being physically damaged was disheartening.  

She didn’t _feel_ ruined (and whatever that entailed), but then again, what did she know? She'd gone to the marriage bed essentially blind. "Can we  _not_ right now, Rose?  I'm barely coming to terms with this myself."

“Eat then. You have to be at the docks by noon, and Mr. Dameron wants you downstairs before you leave.”

“I can’t believe he’s staying here with Uncle to finalize business,” Rey complained, a mouth full of egg.  “I mean,” she swallowed, “he expects me to just show up at his family home. 'Hey, it's Rey, where do I sleep?'”

Rose grunted noncommittally, buttoning Rey’s boots.

“I don’t think I care one way or the other, but...I just cannot believe I wont be going back home.” Rey drank down the rest of her tea.  “I guess, I am going home.”

Rose stood up. “And I can't believe I have to stay here for another week.  I want to see Hawaii so bad, Rey! I heard some of the sailors down at breakfast.  Palm trees and warm water you can swim in! Even the women go swimming! The last time he went Master Kenobi brought me back that beautiful shell, do you remember? He says you can walk up to the water and pluck them off the beach yourself!”

Rey walked to the door, smoothing the ruffled front of her dress. It would be strange traveling without her uncle or Rose, the former staying behind for business purposes with her new husband, the latter standing in for her uncle's valet who had come down with a case of the measles the day before the wedding. Rey had insisted Rose keep by her uncle's side in case he began to show signs of the illness himself. Few things terrified her more than the thought of losing the only parent she ever knew.   

She was scared enough as it was; scared of voyaging alone for many months to a tropical island she had never before stepped foot on.  Scared about leaving her uncle’s home for the home a man she barely knew.

But she was especially scared to walk downstairs.  Every single person would be aware of _just what_ had occurred in her room on her wedding night.  It was utterly humiliating.

But her earlier resolve to make the best of it seeped through her low spirits, and with head held high, she took to the stairs to meet her new husband and uncle in the lounge.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 


	2. Set to Sail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Ben and background.

 

* * *

_Fuck it, I'm so late._

Tossing a coin onto the bar, Ben Solo jammed his cap on his head and strode out the door, newspaper in hand.  He had intended to stay but a few minutes to nurse a drink or two while waiting to meet his cousin at the docks, but a few minutes turned into nearly thirty as he read, more or less oblivious to the world around him.  

Adjusting his collar, he braced himself against the wind, eyeing the clouds that loomed just over the shore. It hadn't rained much since his arrival in Sydney three months ago, but the gales over the past two days had drenched the city, reminding him of the brief but robust summer storms of his childhood.

 _What a fucking day to set sail._ There hadn't been a cloud in the sky this morning despite last night's rain, and now it looked like yet another downpour was imminent. 

The wind picked up, sending puffs of dust swirling about while the paper he had purchased not more than fifteen minutes ago was wrenched from his grasp by a surprising gust that sent several stray dogs into a frenzy as they chased the inky pages that were bandied about in the wind. _Just great._ All of his books were aboard the steamer in his cabin, and he would have nothing to do--he checked his pocket watch--for the next half hour at least. _Why the hell did I even agree to this?_  God knows it wasn't for Poe.

Counting the jetties until he reached fourteen, Ben turned and scanned the afternoon crowd for the familiar face of his adopted brother and cousin Poe Dameron. He wasn't there.

Typical.

Leaning his front against the railing of the pier, Ben followed the waves that lapped the hull of a small steamer as the captain began to welcome the few passengers who were ready to board.

The wind picked up again as he waited, stinging his eyes and ruffling the ends of his shoulder length hair into a tangle about his neck.   

Nearly thirty, his mother still campaigned for something shorter, something more befitting his upbringing, something _dapper_ , as she put it, but the extra length was much too convenient. Not that his heavy locks were convenient to maintain--goddamn they were a pain in the ass to wash and comb--but his unfashionably long hair did make it easier to conceal his unfashionably large ears.

He kept them hidden, not so much for their size, but because, for some reason and as far back as he could remember, as soon as anyone found out that he couldn't hear, their eyes went straight to his ears.

It was as though they expected to find them either missing or hideously deformed. But once he grew out his hair, that particular humiliation ended, much to his relief.

More people arrived, crowding the wharf and Ben's annoyance deepened. The ship was set to leave and Poe still wasn't there.

His cousin's luggage was already on board; while seeing to Ben's trunks, Finn had spotted a couple of hands readying the cabin next door, so if Poe wasn't here in five minutes, he would set off, with or without the new Mrs. Dameron.

 _Why the hell did I even agree to this?_ For the millionth time regretting trading departure dates with Poe.

Well, really it was Finn’s fault. The younger man had always fostered a soft spot for Leia Solo, and when the message arrived asking Ben for a favor, Ben's valet, interpreter, and only friend employed the only tactics he knew would work: guilt and coercion.

**Your mother never asks for much.**

**This girl, she's your family now.**

**Maybe if you do this, they won't expect you back for Easter.**

**You're escorting his wife, not him.**

**Remember who writes your checks each month.**

**You're acting like they're asking you to sacrifice your first born.**

**Seriously, Ben, you'd better do it or I'll quit.**

**It's too late. I've already sent back word that you agreed. Happily.**

And just like so many other times in his life, Ben felt compelled to acquiesce. He would cut his trip short and leave Finn behind for the week so that the golden child could stay and secure the money and property due to him for this martyrdom of a marriage.

Rather than have a bit of fun gambling and getting absolutely soused, as he had initially planned after his business concluded, he’d be forced to play chaperone to the wife of the one person he despised more than anyone else.

 _At least I don't have to listen to her._ Ben supposed there had to be some small advantages to being deaf.

But still, nearly two months on the same ship as Dameron’s fucking _wife_ was bound to be a special sort of torture. He'd spent the majority of his twenties avoiding being on the same continent as his cousin, for Christ's sake and--

A tap on his shoulder.

He swung round, looking down at Poe Dameron, a little grayer, a little older than he remembered, and on his arm, the doe-eyed waif of a  _girl_ who could only be his wife.

**Hi Ben.**

 

* * *

Tea in the lounge was a dull, awkward affair.

At least for Rey.  

Sitting next to Poe and across from her uncle as the two discussed matters she either had no knowledge of or interest in, it was all she could do to not stare longingly at the clock near the stairway.  

They didn’t ignore her completely; her husband would occasionally press his knee against her thigh and ask if she needed anything, while Uncle offered practical advice for her impending trip across the Pacific.

He cautioned her to stay safely on board while the crew unloaded cargo at various sea ports and to be sure to always wear a hat and gloves on deck.  Kenobi also encouraged his niece to remain abed as much as possible so as to (hopefully) avoid the raging sea sickness that had plagued her entire voyage south.

Her stomach dropped at the recollections. Weeks on the open ocean ravaged her body and spirit.  She spent most of the nearly two months at sea gripping the rails and spewing after every meal. And here she was, about to do it all over again.  It wasn't fair that she suffered seasickness when the only way to her new home was by boat.

While the trip to Australia was nothing more than a scheme arranged by her uncle to help Rey become acquainted with her American suitor, because of her near constant indisposition, she had met with Poe no more than fifteen or twenty times--during which her appearance and mood was neither attractive nor endearing.

She attended every meal she could, per her uncle's request, brown locks dampened by sweat and the scent of bile lingering on her breath.  

That wasn't the worst manifestation of her illness. Skinny enough as it was, her tailored dresses began to hang off her body as she dropped weight and her collection of front clasping corsets slipped loose about her ribs. God, if she lost anymore weight her breasts would be nothing but nipple.

Rose fed her frosted tea cakes and biscuits between meals, but Rey had gone from slender to bony in an alarmingly short period of time.

And though her uncle and Rose conspired to leave the couple alone in the common area of Kenobi’s stateroom for a few minutes each night, Rey didn’t feel up to anything more than light conversation; many nights were spent halfheartedly listening to Mr. Dameron talk about himself, his hobbies, and daily life on the island while she sat slumped over a sofa.

He spoke frequently and lovingly of his aunt and uncle, who took him in at the age of seven after the death of his parents from cholera, and made the occasional reference to his younger cousin Ben.  

Benjamin Solo was indeed named after her uncle, and was the only natural child of Han and Leia, some of the wealthiest sugarcane planters on the islands.

Though he was already living with his relatives when Ben was born, Poe made it clear the two were never really close. Indeed, at the age of ten, the younger Solo was sent away against his will to a year-round boarding school in New York.

She waited for Poe to offer an explanation as to _why_ his cousin had been sent away as a child, but he was not forthcoming and Rey hardly knew him well enough to ask. She could only conclude that Ben was a lunatic or worse and began to concoct a tragic, macabre past for the unknown Solo.

God, she could barely recall anything he said. It was all a jumble of stories and anecdotes, nothing really sticking, nothing that really made her feel as though she knew him any better.

She _could_ attribute her lapse of attention to the constant seasickness, but in the safety of her own mind, Rey could freely admit it was due more to a general lack of interest.

_You knew you were going to marry him, Rey. Don't you think you should have paid a little more attention?_

She glanced at the clock again. 11:20.  The topic had shifted to politics.

Stifling a groan, Rey slunk further in her chair and grabbed a biscuit. At least he was handsome, her husband.  

His skin was swarthy, a combination of tropical sun and paternal Hawaiian grandfather.  He didn't quite look his thirty-eight years and despite the heavy dinner jackets and high necked shirts, he was obviously fit. He was always clean shaven and well dressed, and though his natural scent was too foreign, too strong to be pleasing, Rey supposed it could be worse. A lot worse. 

Compared to some of the eligible men she had encountered back at home, Poe was a catch. He was quick to smile and could be absolutely charming--he had certainly charmed her uncle and Rose. Besides, she’d have to be blind to miss the way other women on the ship, even those with husbands and fiancés on their arms, not-so-subtly turned their heads in his direction.

He _was_ handsome, and she supposed that should count for something considering her own bean pole appearance. Ugh, she could only imagine the picture she presented during their voyage, especially on the evening Poe proposed.

Clammy, sickly, cross, and not at all desirable.  

She was under no false illusions about her looks; while Poe had often complimented her on her choice of dress or her improving pallor, never once had he come close to praising her in a way that denoted anything but casual interest.  She supposed she was pretty enough--she was self-aware enough to know that she wasn't plain--but it hardly mattered. 

He had asked permission to court her. He had done his best to see her through her illness. Had married her. Bedded her.

Yes, he had offered, and with her uncle's face behind her eyes she had accepted. And now they had seen each other _almost_ naked and he had been _inside_ of her. He was gaining her fortune and she was gaining the status of wife, and all the privileges that title afforded.

“...that's alright with you, dearest?”

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked stupidly, just barely registering her uncle's endearment.

Lord Kenobi chuckled. “I was asking your permission to make our farewells now instead of at the ship. I'm due to meet an associate of the bank and for that I cannot be late.”

Though she was nervous to be left alone with Poe again, she complied. “You're still coming? After?”  Her uncle had promised to be on the first ship to her new home as soon as business had concluded.

“Of course.” Kenobi stood, brushing errant crumbs from his beard before stepping around the table and tugging her up into a tight embrace.

She knew this wasn’t goodbye forever, and yet it may as well have been, for all the distance she was putting between them.   

He whispered into her hair, so quietly that she knew the words were meant only for her. “You have done right. Poe is a good man, and while I will miss you lolling about the house, I am satisfied knowing you will be taken care of.” He kissed her gently on her cheek, clipped beard scratching her face.

She stepped back first as he continued, tears rimming her eyes. “You will love Hawaii, dearest, it's like nothing you've ever seen.”

The newlyweds followed him to the entryway, and into the hansom cab before turning down the cobbled walkway towards the docks.

And they were alone. For only the second time after their marriage. Fortunately, Rey found it significantly easier to abide her anxiety and awkwardness with her skirt _on_.

She didn't know what to say and was relieved when Poe spoke first. “I wanted to apologize again for everything.”

“There’s no need to keep apologizing,” she replied back, a little irritated.  It seemed he had done little but express regret.

Sorry she was feeling so ill.

Sorry Rose has to stay in place of her uncle’s valet.

Sorry for the unforeseen complications that would keep him in New South Wales another week at least.

Sorry for the crap hotel he took her virginity in.

 _How about a ‘sorry I kept going even though you asked me to wait?’_ No, he hadn't apologized for that.

While it was true that nothing had gone to plan since their departure at Southampton, it didn’t do any good to keep harping on about it. _Is it normal to be so aggravated the first day of marriage?_

“Well,” Poe continued, taking her arm as they walked, shoes loud against the salted wood planks as they hit the wharf. “My family is excited to see you, and as soon as I get back we’ll take a proper honeymoon.  San Francisco, New York, wherever you’d like to go. Your uncle's told me you’ve always wanted to visit the States.”

Rey nodded, still finding it difficult to meet his eye, or speak with him freely. While she did find it odd she would be leaving her husband's side the day after the wedding, it couldn't be helped.

Lord, she was married.  

Against her better judgment and against her deepest wishes, she had submitted to her uncle’s will and had married the American their second day in the country.  She was now and forever Mrs. Poe Dameron.

“I'll make it up to--”

“I really don’t mind.” Rey interjected impatiently.  “While I will miss Rose, I’ve never traveled on my own before.  I’m actually quite excited.”

“That's another thing Rey,” he stopped near the railing of dock seven and took a silver case from his waistcoat. “Since you'll be making a few stops till you pass German Samoa, I thought it best you not travel alone.”

“You'll be coming along after all?” she asked, stepping aside as he made several attempts to light a hand rolled cigarette in the wind.

“No," he flicked a piece of tobacco from his lip with his thumb.  “I probably should have told you last night, but I figured you were already worried enough about getting on another boat again so soon, the way you got sick and all.” He took another puff before continuing.  “My cousin Ben's been in town finishing up some work for my uncle. I've asked him to escort you home. He was leaving next week anyways, so we traded tickets.”

Poe looked away, taking interest in a group of kids throwing rocks and garbage at wandering gulls, waiting for her reaction.

 _His deranged cousin?_  Well, she didn't know for sure he was mad, but there _were_ rumors and Poe himself had said he'd been cast out. If she was going to travel with the man, she ought to know.

“Poe, why was Ben sent away?”

He understood what she was asking.  “It wasn't to an asylum, if that's what you've got in your head.” Flinging the rest of the cigarette onto the deck, he crushed it with the heel of his shoe, commencing their walk.

“He's not crazy or anything. He’s deaf. He can't hear.”

“At all?” So little had ever been mentioned of Ben Solo, that she had begun to build up this incredibly dark and twisted picture of the young boy who had been forcibly removed from his home.  And it turns out he was simply deaf.

“We don’t talk about it much--not because we're embarrassed,” he started hurriedly, “but out of respect for him.  He’s very...touchy… about his disability and he's got it in his head he's like everyone else. He tends to get riled up if you treat him differently.”

Walking along the edge of the loading dock, so close to the ocean, the smell of sea churned her insides, reminding her of her last boat ride.

“When he was about ten, he started getting into trouble with a gang of local boys.  Harmless stuff mostly. My uncle thought it was just a phase, but the rest of us worried he was getting out of hand. I was already working on the plantation. Eventually, my aunt Leia accepted that Ben would be better off with his own kind.”

She thought he would say more on the subject-- _he looked as though he wanted to say more--_ but having finished the narrative, Poe moved on to more practical matters.

“He’ll be in the cabin next to yours and you’ll only have to see him at mealtimes if you need anything.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he pretty much ignores you the entire way. He isn’t well adapted socially. Or he wasn’t the last time we met.”

Rey took in the information thoughtfully. “So, how am I am supposed  to ask him if I do need anything? It’s my understanding that the deaf communicate through hand signals and gestures.”

Poe looked impressed. “That’s true. We call it sign language, and the family learned it when Ben was three.”

Rey felt her patience leaving her.  “Yes, Poe, but _I_ haven't learned it.”

“Here,” he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick, squat notebook on a leather cord along with three sharpened pencils. “He can read as good as anyone.  If you need something, write it down. If he wants to talk, this is how he’ll do it.”

Her skepticism must have been written upon her face, because he rushed to reassure her further.

“I’ll introduce the two of you.  My aunt sent a telegraph explaining our situation.  He knows you're my wife and he won’t be...intentionally rude.  He _is_ strange, and I’ve always thought a bit slow in the head. But he isn’t dangerous.”

Poe scanned the crowd, eyes shielded with the flat of his hand. “There he is!” he pointed to a grey clad figure several yards ahead. “He always was a tall son of a bitch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading. Any comments are welcome and if you see a mistake or typo or something just let me know! Why is it, that everything seems right until after you post? .


	3. First Impressions

She threw the hat onto the narrow bed of her modest cabin and heaved herself down on top of it, not caring enough to take off her boots.  Her face was aflame, three of her nails bitten to the skin and the mortification of knowing that _he_ was in the next room was enough to cause her to groan pitifully into the pillow until the unmistakable blare of the ship’s horn startled her upright. They had left port.

Rey let her head fall against the wall, miserable.

Why couldn’t she just nod and smile and offer her hand as expected?  That’s all she had to do, all that was required of her. Lord, what hemust think of her.

Their meeting on the docks had been the most uncomfortable five minutes of her life--barring perhaps her wedding night--as Rey stood off to the side with a growing number of spectators while her husband and his cousin argued, hands moving in an increasingly aggressive manner.

And it was completely her fault.

“I don’t understand,” Rey turned to Poe, confusion etched upon her face as Mr. Solo began to angrily point in her direction before addressing her husband.

“Well,” Poe answered, glaring at his cousin, shoulders squared. “He wants to know why you’re staring at him and wants you to stop.”

Rey unconsciously looked back up to the gentleman in question, stammering.  What could she say? She _had_ been staring.  From the moment Ben Solo had turned, eyes drinking her in before bringing his attention to her husband, she felt heavy and unable to…to...

To what exactly? She couldn’t quite say, but he was so far from what she had imagined, so unlike his cousin, that had they been introduced under any other circumstance she would have refused to believe he was in any way related to Poe Dameron. And here she was, gawking at him on the docks like she hadn’t just lost her virginity the night before.

“What the hell Rey?” Poe’s annoyance jerking her out of her reverie. "Now look, you got him all riled up again."

Oh God, she’d done it again. She was staring at him.

It was a flurry of movement with Ben snapping in Poe’s face before launching into a second barrage of rapid-fire gestures.  As Poe responded, he mumbled disjointedly, trying to keep up with his cousin’s frantic pace.

“You always think people are staring,” Poe spoke aloud as he signed. “Now you got everyone staring.  Happy? Now stop.” he brought the side of his right down into the palm of his left. “Stop.”

Throwing up his hands in disgust, Ben stomped off down the dock, without another word or look in her direction. 

Rey turned to her husband, her back to the ship and the retreating Solo, a pang of something like regret hanging around her midsection.

“Well, you’ve certainly made an impression.” Poe took her hand. “If I didn’t know the poor bastard, I’d say my wife’s got eyes for another man.”

“Poe! I wasn't...not intentionally, that is, I was…”

Dameron broke into a smile, gripping both her shoulders tightly, his face near her own. “I told you he was touchy.  But this is stupid, even for him. Usually hides his temper better in front of strangers. Now you know. He’s quarrelsome and a chore to be around. Just keep your distance, Rey, and it’ll be fine. In fact,” Poe’s eyes drifted across her face with understanding.  “I think I know what this is about. He’s still sore--”

The horn of the ship resounded in warning and the porter shouted a last call to board.  “You know, what? It doesn’t matter.” Looking over her head in the distance, Poe released the grip he had on her shoulders, and with one hand cradling the back of her head and the other trailing down her spine, pulled her into a kiss.

He kissed her with a gusto that had been lacking in the soft, chaste kisses from their brief courtship and even briefer coupling, but after the first flash of surprise had subsided, Rey pressed her hands to his chest in an a futile attempt to push him away. His mouth was wet and the taste of tobacco on his tongue made her want to vomit. “Wait!” she implored as his hand slid even further down, squeezing her bottom through the bustle of her gown. Her resistance only seemed to encourage him, and with only the most cursory of pauses, kissed her again, eliciting whoops and hollers from the crowd.

It was several long seconds before the hand on her loosened. The porter again called, and the crowd that surrounded them begun to disperse. With a simple adieu and kiss of the hand, Poe was gone and his bride was left standing stupidly on the docks, hands balled into fists at her side.

She began the trek to the boat but it wasn’t until she was halfway there, fingers hovering in front of her lips, that she saw Ben Solo, one hand holding his hat, the other in his pocket. His eyes expressive even at a distance, bore into and shamed her.

She almost stopped, but propelled herself further and as she did, he turned on heel and disappeared through the entrance of their ship.


	4. And Yet So Far Away

Had Ben Solo not been born deaf, he would have married Rey Andor. Of this he was certain.

Washing in the tiny sink of his cabin was difficult, as everything had been built for a much smaller man. He leaned over hunched, arms holding up his frame, fingers gripping the edge of the bowl as he focused on his irregular features in the mirror. Icy water hit his face and regret fused with bitterness as he tried to empty his mind of her.

Perhaps he had overreacted, but the way she just fucking stood there staring at him, mouth ajar. Was he that god damned ugly? He tilted his face, trying to catch a flattering angle.

She was so much prettier in person and somehow it made it that much worse.

The entire situation was fucked.

It started about six months ago or so on a rare visit home.  Poe and his father were playing cards near the fireplace, Finn was off somewhere, no doubt romancing one of the kitchen maids, and his mother reclined against the raised end of a velvet settee in their family room.

Leia had been blunt, as was her custom. Kenobi's niece had recently come of age, and her uncle was desperate for a match. Since one could not be made in Britain, the aging noble had enlisted the assistance of the people he trusted most in the world: The Solos.

Despite the closeness of the Kenobis and Solos, Ben had only seen the girl in question once, when she was a child of around twelve.  Already in his twenties, he had attended at the behest of his father as Poe had elected to stay home.

She was a pretty thing--not particularly social--who spent most of the evening chatting with his mother, while he brooded in his father's shadow. They had not been introduced. 

The very idea was crazy...and yet...though he was initially dismissive, Ben realized just what such a marriage could offer: Independence.

Marrying the girl and inheriting her fortune would prove a relatively straightforward means of finally releasing him from the leash that tethered him to his father...and to Poe. Though he had no real desire to marry, it _was_ something to consider.

Having washed and shaved, he turned his attention to his hair, wincing as the ivory teeth of his comb caught a tangle near his scalp.

As a small child, he would often play at the foot of his mother’s vanity as her lady’s maid worked, twisting mistress Solo's voluminous locks into elaborate coiffures.  Sometimes, when he had taken care not to get into trouble, she would set him on her knee before the mirror and brush his hair, the coarse boar bristles never failing to tickle the top of his forehead. Once he had inadvertently laughed aloud at the sensation, startling his mother and prompting a look of such piteous melancholy that he took care to never again vocalize in front of her.  

Leia Solo, née Alderaan, was never one to successfully conceal her emotions, and slipping on his dinner jacket, his thoughts turned back to his mother’s hopeful yet cautious smile as she had told him of Kenobi’s offer--adding suggestively that by this time next year, he could be a husband.

 **She’s a sweet girl. Friendly and kind.  Kenobi writes that she devours books and adores the theater.  You enjoy those things as well, Benjamin**  

**Yes, but so does Finn. Why not ask him?**

**Be serious.  I’d like--**

She folded her hands in front of her mouth as though contemplating what to say next but instead of continuing the conversation, Leia Solo reached into the silk purse at her side and pulled out a sterling picture frame. She held it out, nodding in encouragement.

**Ben, I’m not asking for an answer now, but I’d like you to consider it.  Taking a wife is serious business, but it would rid me of a good deal of worry.**

The muscles in his jaw tightened as he studied the image and he began to entertain ideas scoffed at mere minutes before.

Rey Andor.  

His mother waved for his attention.

**He wants you to visit, to spend some time getting to know her and if all goes accordingly, the wedding can take place in the next six months.**

He looked back to the photo.

**Think about it while in San Francisco.  Kenobi would like your answer by the end of the month.**

He had considered it. Christ, he had more than considered it.  He could admit that even now, as he took the steps two at a time to the dining hall of the ship he was now forced to share with _her_.

The idea of pursuing Rey Andor had filled him with a strain of anticipation he had yet to experience in all his twenty eight years. He had even gone so far as to give Finn a sly smile when cross-examined later that evening, laughing as the valet danced about the room, swinging his arm in victory.  

He and Finn had left the next day for the mainland.  By the second day of the voyage, his mind was made up and two weeks later upon their arrival and check-in to their suite, he left Finn to unpack and made his way to the nearest post office.

Fifteen minutes later, his offer of courtship was on its way to Kenobi. He had just stepped outside into the afternoon mist when Finn skidded before him, tie askew, chest heaving, a letter clutched in his hand. His mother’s stationary by the look of it.

His first thought had been for his parents.

**My mother?**

**Not mom or dad**

**Then what is it?**

**It’s Poe**

Ben let out a breath of wordless impatience. If his mother and father were fine, why should Finn be bothered to bring news of that bastard? He expected Finn to share whatever information was important enough to send him running through the streets of San Francisco to find him, but Finn merely stood in place solemnly, hands at his side.

 **Well, you going to tell me Finn?** A woman walked past, eyes lingering on the two men, so very different in looks, waving their hands about, in what must seem to the uninitiated, like the flailing of lunatics.  Ben stopped to glare at her until she scurried off without another peak.

**Poe’s getting married**

Oh. Unexpected but not surprising.  Poe Dameron was nothing if not a favorite of every woman he came into contact with.  He wooed the wealthy daughters of plantation owners and bedded the factory girls who lived in the surrounding areas.  Dameron had no shortage of women lusting after him and his parents were only too oblivious to their nephew’s philandering ways.  

Yes, it only seemed natural Poe would marry.  Hell, he was nearing forty.  He said as much, but still Finn did not seem to share his indifference. 

**He’s marrying the girl**

Ben swallowed, knowing then, but needing confirmation.

**What girl?**

Finn held out the single sheet of cream colored paper. Without taking it, Ben stepped around his companion and set off back to the hotel, Finn sprinting to catch up.  Neither attempted to speak and when Ben opened the door to his own room, he dismissed Finn with a curt wave.  Rather than leave, Finn stood his ground, not letting Ben shut the door on him.

**It’s not too la--**

**Go**

**Ben--**

**Go now**

Ben knew that one would have to be deaf to miss the sound his fist made as it struck the paneled wood of the wall.

* * *

Not two minutes later, he was seated at a table on the veranda, menu in hand, notebook ready to write down his order. Turning to signal the waiter, her lithe figure caught his attention as she was being shown to a table of her own. 

Just fucking great. 


	5. If I Knew Then What I Know Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caution: Scenes of marital rape

Leaning forward, Rey plucked another roll from the basket at the center of the table and listened to the chatter of the passengers seated around her in the dining room. She had never been allowed around so many different people and was secretly thrilled to be privy to their personal conversations--especially those spoken in hushed tones that denoted particularly scandalous secrets.

At least her appetite had returned and with it the hope that perhaps this voyage would prove to be easier than the last on her health. She anticipated gaining some of the weight back she had lost now that the spectre of her arranged marriage was no longer hanging over her head.

Because this time, she was already married.

She bit a chunk of the bread off, annoyed. The short nap in her cabin had not dampened the embarrassment of the afternoon; in fact, Rey found herself angrier now than she had been when Poe had mashed his lips to hers in what she could only assume was an ill-mannered attempt to right the wrongs of the previous night.   

But how dare he presume to touch her like that in public!

Her husband had kissed her maybe three or four times during the _entirety_ of their acquaintance and the kiss on the wharf had been her first on the lips, in front of everyone, at that. All of those people watching, children, the other women-- _him_.

She supposed it would get easier and come more natural as their...intimacy grew.  It was nerves, just nerves. He was her husband, she was his wife, and weren’t husbands allowed to kiss their wives goodbye?

She sipped her lemonade, fingers lightly drumming the table.

Seeing Ben Solo had done something to her.

That was ridiculous, though, wasn’t it? She had met him two minutes--at most--before mortally offending him by staring as though she had every right. He wasn’t particularly handsome--not in the way Poe was. Nose too prominent, face marred by a spattering of darkened moles and delicate creases that ran across his forehead--really, there was nothing attractive about him in the least.

_Liar_

She slammed her drink onto the table, eliciting stares from the couple at the next table.

But he _had_ stared back. Before he begun to berate her in his language and before she had time to react, his eyes flicked hotly over her face and for just that instant it was as though there were no others.

Just them.

Oh, what was wrong with her?  Sitting there, obsessing over what kind of impression she had made on another man, the day after her wedding. A man whom, by all accounts, had limited intelligence, had never been properly socialized and was now her cousin by marriage? She had been warned, and rather than heed that advice she had stood there gawking like a damned fool. And why? Because of a pair of pretty eyes?

_You are married._

Yes, she had married and now that they were separated, now that Poe Dameron was a hundred miles away she could admit the feeling that had been bubbling behind her mortification at the wharf was relief.  Relief she would have a few weeks without him, relief she didn’t have to take on the role of wife just yet, relief she wouldn’t have to...

The waiter set down her plate. Rey thanked him with a warm smile, placing the linen napkin in her lap.

_Admit it, Rey._

_Say it._  If not to your uncle, if not to Poe, then say it to yourself.

I don’t want to be a wife.  

Her lips formed the words, but there was no sound behind them.

She didn’t want to be Poe’s wife and live in the same house with him and share his bed and wake up every morning pretending that everything was fine, that she was fine, and that blunt knowledge hit her in the gut, ruining her appetite.

She never should have gone along with it.  It was so clear now.  

Her uncle could have been persuaded.  Did he not try to assuage her fears? Promise her the match could be broken? Benjamin Kenobi had denied her so little in life but Rey had just walked, catatonic, into this new role that she wanted no part of.

If she had just put her foot down, begged and pleaded, she wouldn’t be here now but she was and Rose was right. She was ruined. If her wedding night hadn’t done it, a lifetime with him would.

 

_____________________________

Poe stumbled in without knocking, the smell of alcohol wafting through.  Even with the door closed and the lock latched the sound of the wedding party could be heard, continuing without the bride and groom. She had gone up an hour earlier, at Poe’s whispered request to wash and wait for him upstairs.

She had been combing her hair against her shoulder and though she jumped at the intrusion, didn’t say anything.  It was his room too, after all.

“This place really is a shithole,” he snorted, setting a drink down on the dresser, gin messily sloshing over the side of the glass.

“Is my uncle still awake?” she had asked, awkwardly, her nightgown suddenly feeling an inadequate cover.  Should have gone with the blue. The blue gown covered her chest the most, but Rose had talked her into the white with its low neckline, and now it was too late to change while he scrutinized her, shrugging out of his formal jacket and hanging it on the back of the room’s lone chair.

“Well go on now, get undressed.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.” he sighed, folding his waistcoat with care.

She wrung the brush handle in her hands, taking a step back to the window and away from the bed. “Could I maybe just keep my nightdress on?” The timidity of her voice both surprised and disgusted her.

He grinned, white teeth glinting in the low light of the room. “So we’re going to play that game are we?”

Though unschooled in the nature of sex and seduction, Rey was genuinely confused, toeing the rough wooden boards of the floor with a bare foot. “Game? What game?”

He jerked his belt off, impatient, throwing it to the floor. “Rey, go sit on the bed.”

She complied.

“Drink.” He held out the still half full glass, the outside sticky with drying liquor.

“No thank you.”

He made no move to remove the glass from in front of her face and so she grabbed it, with a look of little civility, and sipped.

Poe pulled his trousers down, shaking them down his hips and the sight caused her to spit back into the spirits.  He struggled a bit more, but realizing his shoes were still on, sat down hard next her on the bed, untying the laces of his boots with little grace, his face strained red with effort. 

The shoes hit the floor with one _thud_ and then another and he was leaning into her wearing nothing but his long underwear, opened near his pelvis. Black hair curled and then it was real.  She was in bed with a man and he was going to touch her.

“Poe, I don’t know what to do, I--”

Something in her mien must have given him pause because the look of exasperation softened and taking the glass from her, Poe rubbed a hand across the sprouting stubble of his chin.  “Well, I suppose since this is our wedding night I’ll indulge you this.”

He downed the rest of drink and threw back the edge of her long nightgown up over her knees, earning him a kick in the ribs.

“Rey, Jesus, relax.” Using the strength of his right elbow, he held down her thigh, left hand disappearing beneath the hiked up hem of her dress.  She pressed back against the headboard but he persisted until his hand was at her entrance, palm tugging painfully against her pubic hair. She sat in front of him, gripping the sheets, legs awkwardly splayed.

Rey hadn’t been quite sure what he was aiming to do but after a few investigatory pokes his fingers were inside of her, the blunt edges of his nails raking against her insides, causing her to whimper.

Revulsion hit her in waves, but she felt too numb to move. This was as it was supposed to be, her mind rang over and over again as he fingered her, this is what husbands did to their wives.  It was supposed to hurt.  She winced as his thumb scratched the delicate folds above her opening.  Rose had told her it would hurt the first time. But his thumb stayed in place, rubbing against the small abrasion.

“Ow!” she cried, wiggling out of his grip, the discomfort becoming too great. She thought she would be sick if he continued.

Poe seemed as displeased as she was; while pulling his fingers from her she could swear he muttered something about being “too damn dry.” She drew her legs up to her chest with a hiss.

“Alright, lay down,” Poe tucked his hands behind her knees and pulled her forward so she was lying on her back on the firm mattress. Hovering over, weight on one hand, he roughly seized her left breast, twisting none too gently and causing her to cry out.

“They’re pretty damn small, huh.” he told her, nose scrunched.

Any lingering esteem she had for Poe snapped with that disgusting remark. Oh, God this is wrong, all of it. His smell, the bed, the way he was looking at her, treating her like she was nothing.  What had she done? He fit himself between her legs.

“Could we have the lights off?” Her voice wavered, betraying her own anxiety.  He huffed, rolling his eyes at her request. “Please?”

He reached an arm out to snap off the lamp next to their bed, covering them in darkness. Before her eyes could adjust he planted a series of sloppy kisses to her chin and neck, gin soaked spittle left behind.  One hand digging into the meat of her upper arm, the other traveled towards his groin and suddenly, he was at her entrance and then pushing inside and oh it wasn’t going in, and he was cursing under his breath.

Poe was not deterred, determined to put his own organ inside of her.  Her arm felt bruised where his hand wrapped around and after another moment of huffing, the feat had been accomplished.

Oh God was it supposed to burn? Why did it burn? He stilled, and for a vague moment she wondered if it was over, but she knew that it wasn’t--even she wasn’t that stupid. It hurt and it needed to stop.  Couldn’t he see that he was hurting her?

He pulled out, then pushed in again but the pain was refusing to subside and so she placed her hands on his shoulders, clutching the fabric of his union suit, feeling the muscles contract with each thrust.  If he couldn’t understand her body language she would have to be more direct.

“Poe,” she whimpered, “please, it hurts.”

He either didn’t hear her or didn’t care and Rey was positive it was the latter. The top of his head hit her chin, causing her to bite her tongue, the taste of blood sharp as he continued to rut into her.

_You can’t cry. Do not cry! Don’t give him that._

“No, Poe, stop, please, it--”

But still he continued.

“Stop it, Poe, stop!”

With a spasm his body fell onto hers, sweat dripping from his forehead and onto her neck and she thought he had finally listened to her plea but it seemed he had finally finished.

So this is was sex.

Poe rolled over, stretching his limbs. “You oughtta go wash or we’ll be sleepin’ in a mess tonight.”

She wobbled over to the pitcher and basin that was all the crude hotel had to offer, the burning slightly receding now that he was no longer inside. Instead of turning away and allowing her privacy in the small room, he lay on the flat of his back with his face twisted in her direction.

_Fine. Watch. As long as he doesn’t try to touch me again._

She could feel something dripping down her legs and she lifted up the hem of her gown to catch whatever it was with the rag before it hit her knees.

A quick peek of the rag yielded a surprise. Not only was there a clearish, sticky mucus, but blood as well.  Rey heard that girls often bled the first time, but the red was a scarlet reminder of the life she had chosen.

“Well, now _that_ is a surprise,” Poe commented from his place on the bed.

“What is?” He didn’t respond, and Rey didn’t care and so when she was convinced it had all been wiped away, she lay down next to him on top of the blankets, flat on her back, hands folded on her stomach, and waited for him to fall asleep.

____________

Ben watched her from the dimly lit veranda, form slouched, collar covering the lower half of his face, though he was positive she couldn’t see him.  He had a near perfect view of her profile and could admire the delicate turn of her nose and the workings of her jaw as she ate, hair curling gently across her cheek.  She spoke to no one but the waiter, and while at first she had fidgeted, once her food had arrived, she had stilled. 

He ate his own meal, watching her until she left back to her cabin for the night.


	6. Fool Me Twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who are reading...thank you! Thank you for your kind words and comments. I appreciate each and every one.

The number of passengers who remained after the stop at Samoa was about thirty, and while Ben had done his best to avoid her on the small ship since their first evening aboard, it had become increasingly difficult to continue to do so.

Once he came upon her as she was shutting the door to her cabin, the yellow bustle of her  dress gone before he could register who it was. However, she had left him a token; a small lace trimmed handkerchief lay on the floor of the narrow hall, initials threaded through in red. He worked the soft material with his fingers debating whether to knock and hand it over or keep it for his own. A quarter of an hour later it was in his trunk, next to a dog-eared photograph of a life that could never be.

There would be no more stops until they reached the islands.

* * *

 

He sees her reading in the late afternoon, reclining on a deckchair, face hidden beneath a wide brimmed hat.  He wishes she weren’t wearing gloves.

* * *

 

He sees her at dinner and while he can’t be sure, thinks she sees him too. Her hair is simply pinned, her dress the most flattering blue.  He sits three tables back and his chicken grows cold on the plate.

* * *

 

He sees her in his dreams.  She speaks to him with her hands and pleasures him with her mouth and he wakes up hard and unable to shake the feeling that she’s there beside him.

* * *

 

It was different in the morning. It always was. In the morning she was Rey Dameron and he was Ben Solo, deaf from birth and dumb for even entertaining the thought that she would ever want to be with anyone like him.

A week later it rained.

* * *

 

Ben had been leaning over the railing watching a pod of dolphins swim aside the ship when fat droplets dampened his hair and the wind started in earnest. The change in weather had been almost instantaneous, forcing him downstairs.

Back in his room, damp jacket crumpled on the floor, he lay across his bed reading, an open bottle of brandy tucked into his armpit. The book, _The Turn of the Screw,_ had been a favorite of Finn’s, and he held the slim volume in one hand above his face, while the other hand absentmindedly teased the sparse hair that began just below his navel. Ben lay there, taking intermittent sips, lulled by the rocking of the waves until the last thing he remembered were the words “unnatural silence” baiting him from the page.

* * *

 

He woke up on the floor in the dark, clothes soaked, dazed and still a little drunk.

 _What the fuck?_ He hoisted himself using the iron bed frame for support but before he had gained his footing, the ship pitched _hard_ , knocking him onto his hands and knees with a splash.

The carpet wasn’t merely drenched; he was kneeling in an inch of water at least and as he went for the lights, the ship seemed to shudder and the lamp rolled into the bed, flickering. He squinted towards the porthole but there was nothing but the swish of sea foam leaking through the storm cover. Not good.

Slow from the alcohol, Ben reached for his jacket, but finding it sopping wet in the corner, he staggered to his trunk for a spare. He had just begun the search for his boots when the harsh smell of smoke filled his nostrils, and with it the first real bite of panic.  He’d never been much of a sailor--that had been his father and Poe’s domain-- but they were out in the middle of the god damned ocean and fire--well fire was libel to kill them all.

There were two or three small lifeboats secured on the starboard side--he had passed them nearly every day on his rounds about the deck--and the terrifying prospect that the ship could very well sink materialized along with another image.  

_Rey_

Barefoot, he took hold of his door knob and pulled.

It didn’t budge.

Of course, the door was locked and a second later the door was open and Rey was standing in front of him, hand raised as though ready to strike, tears running down her face, mouth drawn in a quavering O. How long had she been standing out there in the rising water, trying to wake him up?

_She came for me._

Wading out into the darkened hallway, he eyed the water that ran along the wall. The ship was tilting as it floundered--there was no other explanation. Rey shrank back, watching him, waiting, following the progress of the water. Her dress, blue with a white bodice, was clinging to her slender frame, a leather bag slung across her shoulders.

Grabbing her at the wrist, he guided them both to the set of stairs that led to the upper deck.  Rey didn’t struggle out of his grasp, if anything she shadowed him close--he could feel the wet length of her gown brush against his ankle.  They were nearly to the outside door when the ship pitched again and she slipped from his grip and tumbled down the stairs. Ben held onto the railing and when the ground had somewhat leveled, he hopped down the steps to her. She was on her bottom, skirts heavy with water, arms extended, reaching for him. He took both hands into his, pulling her up. She spoke words to him and he gestured for her to walk up the steps first.  He would follow in case she fell again.

Passengers and crew were huddled in the dining room, fighting for standing space between upturned tables, chairs and shattered dishes. Rain was _pouring_ in through the open veranda and smoke could be smelt but not seen as he led her to a burly man in uniform who was tossing life jackets to those in the crowd.  Using his height to an advantage, Ben caught one and handed it to Rey, who promptly slipped it on over her head. She fumbled with the cords and he would have stopped to help her, but it was all he could do to keep his own balance.

He was about to catch one of his own, when a wave of water cascaded through the room shoving him--and many others--to the ground.  The elbow of a young man hit him square in the chest, eliciting a rare cry of pain. He couldn’t catch his breath and he couldn’t get up and this time, instead of abating, another wave crashed over the room, his vision impaired by the torrent of salt water. Ben spun into the far wall where a table leg clipped his rib cage and scraped the skin.  Tears welled as he used the table to propel himself upwards and a moment later he was on his feet.

The crowd was no more, as those who could stand were now off in the direction of the lifeboats.

He couldn’t find her.

He left the dining area as swiftly as he could, sliding in the rain, wiping water from his face every few seconds and wishing he could just fucking call out to her.

At the lifeboats, Ben scanned the faces of the female passengers, huddled together, bracing themselves against the wind. Several of them were crying, while the others looked on in shock.

Rey was not among them.

He swung wildly around in utter confusion. Crewmen were jogging past, waves splashed over the sides, and the boat continued to rock. Doubling back, Ben ran for the dining area, unsure of where to begin his search.

Rey was wading through the increasingly high waters of the deck, her arms like bird’s wings, as she tried to withstand the powerful sway, just outside the entrance to the dining room.  

She had gone back. The fucking fool had gone back to find him, he was sure of it.  

He flailed his arms in a bid for her attention, but she didn’t see him and every step took her further away.  Though he couldn’t hear, her lips appeared to form the shape of his name, repeated again and again. He knew his own name from the mouths of others only too well.

He raced forward, avoiding debris, and was about two yards away when another shift of the ship sent him pinwheeling backwards.  He caught his balance and as he planted his foot firmly to the wooden deck, he watched her tip over the side of the railing, her face nothing but honest surprise.

She’d gone over.

He ran without stopping and dove in after her.


End file.
